


A Study in Leather

by rubyofkukundu



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crossdressing, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-20
Updated: 2010-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyofkukundu/pseuds/rubyofkukundu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a proposition for John. For some reason, John finds it a little shocking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here: <http://sherlockbbc.livejournal.com/364223.html>

Oh sweet Jesus.  
  
John pauses, stunned, halfway through the door to their flat.  
  
Sherlock is standing proudly in the living room, one foot on the coffee table and a hand on his knee. That wouldn't be so odd if it weren't for the fact that he's wearing thigh-high leather boots. And a leather posing pouch. And nothing else.  
  
"Drop your trousers," says Sherlock, pointing a riding crop in the direction of John's groin. "I need to measure how long it takes you to get aroused."  
  
"What?" sputters John. "What?" He scrabbles to shut the door behind him. "What on Earth are you...?"  
  
Sherlock looks disappointed, ever so briefly, then he smirks and tosses his head, slicked back hair shining in the lights. He cracks the riding crop against a leather-clad calf. "Come on, big boy. You know you want it."  
  
John nearly chokes on his own confusion.  
  
The riding crop traces the line of Sherlock's collar bones. "Let daddy show you a..."  
  
And then John realises. He's heard those words before. "That's what the victim said! You're..." He looks at Sherlock. "This is for the murder of that male prostitute, isn't it?"  
  
Sherlock huffs impatiently. "Of course."  
  
"Oh God, Sherlock." John collapses back into a chair. "Of all the things..."  
  
"Come on then," says Sherlock, looking a little annoyed. He gestures at John's trousers. "Take them off and have sex with me."  
  
"But I'm not gay!" protests, John. "Why does everyone think I'm gay?"  
  
Sherlock snorts. "Heterosexual. Homosexual. What does it matter? Now come on..."  
  
"Of course it matters!" says John.  
  
Sherlock gives him a petulant look, and John realises that he's going to have to come at this from Sherlock's point of view if he's going to get through to him at all.  
  
"Look," says John. "You want this to be a fair experiment, right? How can it possibly be fair when you're comparing the arousal time of someone who's sexually attracted to men with the arousal time of someone who's not?"  
  
"Well, yes, I know it'll be imperfect," says Sherlock, "But you're the only subject I have. It's not like I can go get help from a random man on the street, now, is it?"  
  
John is just about to agree that, no, Sherlock can't, when he stops. He looks up at Sherlock in disbelief. "You tried it, didn't you?"  
  
"Tried what?"  
  
"You tried propositioning men on the street and no-one would help you."  
  
Sherlock sighs. "Come on, John. I need you."  
  
"No."  
  
Sherlock sighs again, louder this time, and sits down on the sofa. "A murderer is running free, right this moment, and all because you're..."  
  
"I'm not doing it, Sherlock. Sorry."  
  
Sherlock makes an exasperated noise and leans back to stare bleakly at the ceiling. For a few minutes, the room is filled with nothing but the noise of a riding crop tapping impatiently on Sherlock's thigh.  
  
John watches him warily. God knows what he's thinking. Hopefully he'll give up soon and go put some clothes on. It's disconcerting to see him like this, all angular limbs and pale skin and...  
  
John stares at him. "Are you wearing make-up?"  
  
"Oh yes." Sherlock waves a hand distractedly. "Mrs Hudson let me borrow hers. She helped me put the whole outfit together, in fact."  
  
"You... You told her it was for a case, didn't you?"  
  
"Yes yes. But you know what Mrs Hudson is like. She has her own ideas about things."  
  
Oh God. That'll be an embarrassing conversation the next time Mrs Hudson pops round then.  
  
The silence continues for a few more minutes until, without warning, Sherlock sits forward. He looks John in the eye. "Help me, John."  
  
"No!" says John. "Look, I'm sorry, Sherlock, but you're just going to have to come at this case from another angle this time."  
  
"From another angle?" Sherlock holds completely still. Then he gasps, and gasps again. "Another angle!" He jumps up and dances across the room.  
  
John sits up. "What? What is it?"  
  
"The angle!" cries Sherlock. "The victim wasn't bent over the table when he died! The angle's all wrong!"  
  
"What?" says John. "What? How?"  
  
Sherlock claps his hands, ignoring John completely, then he looks down at his state of undress and frowns. "No time to change." He pulls on his coat over bare skin. "Ring Lestrade and tell him to meet me at the crime scene immediately." And with a clatter of heels, Sherlock's out the door and down the stairs.  
  
Dazed, John watches him go. He pulls out his phone to do as he's told and wonders if he should warn Lestrade about Sherlock's outfit first. It would be the polite thing to do after all, but, at the thought of Lestrade's reaction, John decides that it will be much more fun to leave it as a surprise instead.


	2. Chapter 2

Lestrade arrives to find Sherlock bundled up in his coat and crouched on the floor, closely examining a table leg.  
  
"Ah," says Sherlock without looking up, "you're here." He pockets his magnifying glass and stands up. And up and up and... Sherlock's not normally this tall, is he? Confused, Lestrade glances down at Sherlock's feet, and notices something rather alarming.  
  
"I want you to have the table re-examined," says Sherlock, heels clacking on the hardwood floor as he takes the few steps needed to close the distance between them. "The victim wasn't bent over it when he was killed. He was only placed there after he was dead."  
  
Lestrade's gaze flicks from Sherlock's feet to his face and... Is... Is that eyeliner?  
  
Sherlock is smiling.  
  
Lestrade coughs and tries to get a hold of himself, but he can't stop... he looks back down at those boots.  
  
"Part-time job," says Sherlock, by way of an explanation.  
  
"Oh." Lestrade nods, curiosity sated for the split-second before... Wait. Part-time job? What...?  
  
But Sherlock's already launched back into the details of the case, striding through the door and into the next room, and it's all Lestrade can do, physically and mentally, to keep up with him.


End file.
